


The Case of the Ex

by WhatLocked



Series: The William Watson Case Files [8]
Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angsty., Douchebags (as in the people we all like to avoid not actual bags used for douching), Johns POV, M/M, William is far too perceptive than any four year old has a right to be, mean boys, mentions of abuse, mentions of drug use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-20
Updated: 2017-09-20
Packaged: 2018-12-31 22:08:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12142146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhatLocked/pseuds/WhatLocked
Summary: Sherlocks ex rocks up out of the blue and no one is happy about it.





	The Case of the Ex

**Author's Note:**

> I promised the next instalment in this series wouldn't be as long coming as the last, so, here it is.
> 
> This makes reference to a part from Chapter 12 of ‘The Boy & the Soldier’. You don’t necessarily have to have read that story, but it will explain Williams reaction to Joshua.

~~~~~~~~~~

It was a rare day that John was home with just himself and William.  It was a Thursday evening and Sherlock had been summoned by Mycroft.  Something about their aunties will and Sherlock had whined that his insufferable brother was holding the meeting at the Diogenes club on purpose, just so he wouldn’t bring John and William.  The last time had been a disaster that had saw someone try to physically escort William out of the room, as the child (four years of age) couldn’t stop asking questions about the place, despite both John and Sherlock telling him that he needed to be silent.  John had seen red the minute the man in the suit had placed his hands on William's shoulders.  The man had ended up with a broken wrist and some of the elder members had worked themselves up into a right silent tizz that had seen one of them taking deep gasps, as quiet as possible, through an oxygen mask to help calm him back down again.  Both John and Sherlock had felt it best that Sherlock make this meeting alone, especially since it really didn’t have anything to do with John at all.  He would have just been emotional support and also someone to act as a buffer between the two brothers.  

So, as it was, it was Thursday night and William had been fed and bathed and was now drawing a picture for Molly while John washed up the last of the dinner dishes.  He was just putting the last dish onto the drying rack when the doorbell rang downstairs.  

“Mithuth Hudthon” William bellowed at the top of his lungs and John sighed, adding another item to the list of things he had to have words with his partner about in relation to the example he was setting William, before making his way to the door of the flat.  The journey through the living room was futile as, by the time he reached their door, their landlady had already answered the front door.  

An unfamiliar voice sounded up the stairs and John heard Sherlock's name mentioned.  He then heard Mrs Hudson direct the man up the stairs.  John did a quick look around the room to make sure it was tidy enough to receive clients, as this was surely a client, and was happy to note that there was nothing that was once attached to a human body in clear view of anyone.  He then made sure that William was occupied and then there was a knock at the door. 

“Good evening” sounded the voice that had been downstairs and John turned to see a man, mid to late thirties, head of dark black curls, close to six foot and built like a swimmer.  He wore faded jeans and an old rolling stones t-shirt under a leather jacket.  His face was open and friendly and he was, to put it frankly, rather ordinary looking.

“Good evening” John replied, taking a step closer to the open door.  

“Sorry, I hope you don’t mind, but the lady downstairs let me up.  I’m looking for Sherlock Holmes.”

“Ah, yes, Mrs Hudson, and it’s fine, but Sherlock is out at the moment.  Can I take a message?”

The man ran a hand through the back of his hair.  “Nah, I’m just an old friend of Sherlocks.  I was in town for a few days and thought I would surprise him with a bit of a visit” and there was that genial smile again.  

“Oh, of course.  He will probably only be an hour or so, you are welcome to wait if you want.”

The man seemed to think this over and then gave a small nod.  “If it’s not too much trouble” he replied.  

“Not at all,” John said, curious about any person claiming to be a friend of Sherlock's, the man who claimed to have no friends at all.  “I’m his partner, John” John said holding out his hand and the man took it, giving it a shake.  “Come on in.”  He stepped out of the way so the man could enter and indicated towards the living room in an invitation for their guest to make himself comfortable.  

“Thank you,” the man said taking a step into the room.  “I’m Joshua, by the way, Joshua Kingston.”

It was at the revelation of his name that the room plunged into silence, which basically meant that the sound of Williams crayons, scratching over the paper, ceased.  It wasn’t much, but John noticed and he looked to his son and was surprised at what he saw.

William still had the yellow crayon clutched in his fingers, and the tip of the crayon was still pressed on the page, but instead of looking down at the page he was looking up at their guest, who was looking around their living space, completely oblivious to Williams glare, because that was the only word to describe the look on his sons face.

William's eyes were narrowed down to cold, calculating slits.  His mouth was pulled into a thin line and it was clear that his jaw was clenched.  His head moved slightly as he looked the man down then up again.  His mouth then twisted into an unpleasant curve and slowly he stood up.  

It was then that Joshua took note of the other person in the room.  “Hello,” he said in a friendly, yet surprised tone, down at William.  William responded by slowly walking up to Joshua, giving him another once over and then turning to face John.  

“Goodnight,” he said and then walked out of the living room and up the stairs to his own room, a very confused John looking after him.

Once the sound of the bedroom door shutting could be heard, John turned his attention back to Joshua.  “I apologise for that, I think.  Not sure what really happened there.”

Joshua just gave a little chuckle.  “Never mind,” he said.  “Kids can be fickle.”

John hummed his agreeance and then held out a hand to indicate that Joshua should take a seat.  “Can I get you a cup of tea, coffee?”

“Coffee’d be great” the man replied, walking over and taking a seat in Sherlock's chair and suddenly John felt uneasy.  William, despite being only four, was generally a good judge of character.  Something about this man had bothered the boy so much that he had taken himself to bed fifteen minutes early and without his bedtime stories.  

John set to work making the coffee and thought about their visitor some more.  Sherlock didn’t have friends (except for himself, Greg, Molly, Mrs Hudson and, yes - _you can lie to yourself as much as you want Sherlock_ , - Mycroft as well) and John knew that he hadn’t gotten on with his fellow students at school or uni, (Sebastian Wilkes was a prime example there) so who in the hell was this guy?   The curiosity John had felt before very quickly turned into suspicion, but if John was anything, he was typically British and that meant he knew how to be hospitable, even when he didn’t want to.

“How do you take it?” he called over the sound of the boiling water.

“Just black” came the reply and John set to work making a cup of tea and a cup of coffee.

“I can send him a message, get him to come home earlier if you want” John offered as he placed the coffee cup on the table in front of Joshua.  “He is just with his brother so a reason to escape will probably be welcome.”

A derisive snort left Joshua's nose and he picked up the mug and took a sip.  “Is that arrogant twat still interfering.  For someone who is supposed to be intelligent, he doesn’t get the point very well.”

“Hmmm” John agreed, taking a sip of his own drink, suddenly liking the man less.  Yes, Mycroft was interfering but if anyone knew anything about Sherlock, and John did, they would know that Mycroft's interferences didn’t actually bother Sherlock as much as he let on.  “So, did you want me to message him?”  John asked again.

Joshua took another sip of his coffee before giving a small shake of his head.  “Actually, maybe you can fill me in on what he’s been up to before I see him again.  It’s been years - not since uni - that I have seen him.”

“Sure thing” John agreed while silently thinking about how he would send a message to Sherlock without Joshua knowing.  There was no way that he was going to let Sherlock arrive home completely unprepared to being reintroduced to Joshua Kingston.  “What did you want to know?”

Joshua seemed to ponder the question as he rolled his mug between his hands.  “Is he still playing detective?” he asked with a condescending tone which John did not appreciate one little bit.

“No” John replied and Joshua let out a small huff of laughter.  “He’s actually made a career out of it now.  Works with the local police.  Has solved loads of crimes.”

The smug look that had crept onto Joshua’s face slowly melted away and for a brief second, John was sure he saw anger before a look of contemplation took over.  

“You can read all about them, the crimes that is.  You just need to google his name.”

“You mean all of that is based on real events?” Joshua scoffed.

“Not based on.  Is.  They all really happened, as written on the blog.”

It was then that a look of realisation befell the other man's face.  “Oh, you’re the little blogger that follows him around.  Are you two actually together, and with a kid?”

John really didn’t like the man's tone, one that stated he didn’t believe a word that had come out of John's mouth.

“Yep” John answered, popping the P.  He wasn’t going to elaborate.  He didn’t put their personal life on the blog for a reason and that reason was that douche bags, such as the one currently sitting in Sherlock's chair, didn’t need to know about it. 

It was then that Johns phone went off and, hoping it was from Sherlock, he pulled it out of his pocket.  It was from Lestrade, wanting to know if Sherlock had filled out those bloody statement forms yet.

John replied with a no and was about to hit send when Joshua piped up.

“Is that Sherlock, asking if he needs to get milk on the way home?”  Again, John didn’t like the man's tone, nor the way he thought their domestic life was some sort of joke.

“No” John replied calmly.  “Just a friend of ours.”  And then he quickly added on another message asking Greg to send Sherlock a message conveying that he had a visitor and could he also run a check on one Joshua Kingston.  He hit send and looked up at Joshua.  “And Sherlock never gets the milk.”

~o~

It took less than twenty minutes for Sherlock to arrive home, clearly not finished what he had been doing with Mycroft if the way he thundered up the stairs was anything to go by.

In that time John had answered Joshua’s questions, as ridiculing and prying as they had been, with as minimal words as possible, all with a friendly smile on his face.  Those who really knew him knew that that smile meant danger to whatever poor soul it was being directed at.  

“Get out” Sherlock snarled, stalking into the room and up to the man sitting in his chair.  “Get out now and don’t come back.  You are not welcome here.”

A confused sort of look crossed Joshua’s face as he looked up at a very seething Sherlock but was soon replaced with a patronising smile.  “God, Sherlock, look at you.  You’ve hardly changed at all.”

“I.  Said.  Leave.”

“Now, is that any way to treat an old friend?” Joshua laughed, standing up, so he was practically chest to chest with Sherlock.  John didn’t like that one little bit so he too stood up and moved closer to Sherlock.  

“We are not friends, Joshua.  You are no-one.  Get.  Out.”

“That’s not what you used to say” was Joshua’s retort and his voice had gone from cheery and joking to something dark and menacing.  “You were quite generous with your praise of me when I had my cock up your…”

Joshua never got to finish the sentence because John's fist made contact with his jaw, and before he realised what had happened he was kicked down to his knees and a very pissed off John Watson was behind him, yanking his head back by his hair.

“I do believe the man asked you to leave.  Now, if for some reason you find it hard to move yourself down the stairs, I will be more than happy to give you a hand.”

Joshua winced as he tried to pull his head away from John’s grasp, but John wasn’t relenting.  

“Well,” John spat.  “What’s it going to be?  Are you going to walk down on your own, leave our home and never come back, or am I going to haul your shitty arse out of here and throw you down the stairs?”

Joshua glared up at John before his gaze slunk Sherlock's way.  “I’m sure I can find my own way out” he sneered at Sherlock and John let go of his hair with a push and the man nearly fell forward.  

Once he got his balance he pulled himself up to his feet, ran his hands over the front of his clothes as if to smooth out any ruffles and headed for the door.  

“You know you miss what we had, Sherlock,” he said as he walked to the door, not looking at either of the other men in the room.  “I know you’ll want to know why now, after all these years, because I know you.  You hate not knowing things.”  It was here that he turned and looked at Sherlock.  “I’ll be waiting for your call.”  He put his hand into his pocket, pulled out a small business card and placed it on the side table before he left the flat, made his way downstairs and then left the building.  

Neither John nor Sherlock made a move until they heard the downstairs door shut.

“What the fuck was that about?” John asked, looking to Sherlock, but Sherlock wasn’t paying attention.  Instead, he had started running his hands through his hair, like he did when something at a crime scene was proving to be too difficult.  It was a sign that he saw himself as a failure because his greatest tool wasn’t working the way he wanted it to.  John grabbed his wrists and gently pulled his hands down, positioning himself so he was in Sherlock's line of sight.  “Hey,” he said when Sherlock refused to look at him.  “Hey, whatever that was, it wasn’t your fault.  He’s gone, yeah.  It’s alright, okay.”

Finally, Sherlock tore his gaze away from the empty doorway and looked down at John and John saw him relax, just a bit and he felt reassured enough to let go of Sherlock's wrists.  

“Are you okay?” he asked and Sherlock gave a short nod.  

“Do I need to be worried that he is going to return?”

Sherlock seemed to think the question over and then gave a short shake of his head.  

“Do you want to talk about it?”  Again, Sherlock seemed to think about the question and just as he opened his mouth to speak the sound of small feet coming down the stairs could be heard.  

“Therlock,” came the quiet voice of William and both John and Sherlock turned to look towards the door.  William made his way over to the two of them and took Sherlock's hand in both of his.  “I didn’t get my thtory.”  Even though it was a statement, John heard the invitation for Sherlock to come and read him a story.

“Buddy, Sherlock’s busy right now.  Maybe tomorrow…”

“No, it’s alright,  I’ll read his story” Sherlock interjected softly, giving John a look to say that it really was alright.

John bent down to kiss Williams head.  “Night,” he said and William nodded his own goodnight and walked out the room, tugging on Sherlock's wrist as he went.  Sherlock followed silently behind.

~o~

Thirty-seven minutes it took for Sherlock to come back down from Williams room and when he did he looked a lot less stressed, although, there were still signs that tonight's unwelcome visitor had left him rattled.  This, in turn, had left John rattled, for it took a lot to unsettle Sherlock even just a bit.  In the few months that they had known each other, he had only seen it happen a few times, the worst being when he had lost - sorry, _misplaced_ \- William in the shopping centre a few weeks into their relationship.  But tonight had been something completely new.  It had been one more side to Sherlock that had never been revealed to John, and he wasn’t 100% sure how he should go about dealing with it.  The fact that he wasn’t as agitated was a good sign.

“Asleep?” John asked and Sherlock nodded.  

“It took seven and a half books tonight.”

“Tea?” John asked, having already set the cups out and boiled the water.  He was about to go make it when Sherlock replied with “There’s a bottle of Whiskey in the top cupboard” so John left the cups and kettle and pulled out two tumblers and, having to stand on his toes and actually reach, he grabbed the bottle from the top shelf.  He turned just in time to see the smirk drop from Sherlocks face.

It wasn’t often the two of them indulged in alcohol.  John, because of his families history and Sherlock because, despite his extensive history with stimulants, had the alcohol tolerance of a twelve-year-old girl.  But, on the odd occasion, a bit of usquebaugh was just what the doctor (or in this case, the detective) ordered.

John, ignoring Sherlock's apparent glee at watching him struggle to reach the top shelf, poured two fingers into each glass and then made his way to the lounge room, handing one glass to Sherlock and then settling in his own chair with his own glass.  

Sherlock was halfway through his drink, John had barely started when Sherlock finally spoke.  

“Joshua and I met at university when I was twenty.  He was twenty-three.  As you probably figured, we were a…item at one stage, that stage being for three years.”

John sat silently and listened, holding off all questions he had until the end.

“At first it was purely physical.  We clicked in the bedroom, at least, I thought we did, and he wasn’t completely unbearable outside of the bedroom.  He was happy to do his thing and for me to do mine.  After about twelve months I realised we had somehow slipped from people who slept together every few days to people who were actually in a relationship.  We were spending every day together at my room as I didn’t have a dorm mate. I realised this fact when I went to the bathroom one morning and noticed that there were two toothbrushes in the cup instead of one.  I let it slide.  The sex was good, the drugs were better.”

John watched as Sherlock looked over him to see his reaction.  It stayed neutral.  John knew of Sherlock's past and while he didn’t like it, there was no point in reacting to it.  It was done, it wasn’t going to change, so he sat back and let Sherlock tell his story, determined to make no form of judgement until he had heard it all.  Sherlock correctly took Johns lack of response as permission to continue.

“A few months later he suggested we get our own place, something bigger and not on campus.  Between the two of us we should have been able to afford something semi-decent, so we did just that.  We got our own place.  Well, to put it more correctly, we got Joshua’s place.” A cynical grin stole over Sherlock's face and John had a feeling that this was where the story turned bad.  “It was never mine, despite how much I paid of the rent.  He chose the flat and the furniture and he even chose what food we bought.  I had select areas where I could put my belongings and there were certain areas of the flat that I wasn’t allowed to touch.  This was all fine, as at that stage I didn’t really have a lot and I was still using the labs at the uni, so I was hardly in the flat anyway.  Eventually, this wasn’t enough for Joshua.  Within four months of flat-sharing Joshua had introduced me to cocaine.  Before that, it was just marijuana and MDMA.  I became addicted alarmingly quickly and not being able to financially support the habit on what allowance I was getting from my mother, I relied on Joshua to source it for me.  This, obviously,  came with a fee.”

Images flashed through Johns mind of forced sexual encounters, physical abuse, humiliation, but he let nothing show on his face.

“To start off with, I was given a curfew.  I had to be home by no later than nine o’clock each night.  I had to inform Joshua of my every move.  I  essentially became his slave.  I cooked the meals, on the occasion we were sober enough to want to eat, and I cleaned the flat.  Believe it or not, John, I do actually know how to do those things.”

At this, a small smile pulled at the corners of John's mouth, but it didn’t reach his eyes.  

“Soon, domestic chores were not enough.  Soon, they became sexual as well.  If Joshua wanted sex he got it.  If he didn’t get it I bore the marks for the following week, or however long it took for the bruises to fade.”

At this Sherlock looked away from John and frowned at the unlit fireplace, not wanting John to see his shame at the words that tumbled from his mouth.  “I did try and leave, three times”  He continued stressing the issue as if to prove that he wasn’t just lying there and taking the abuse.  To prove that he didn’t want it to continue.  John would never for a second believe that he did.  He had seen this very scenario so many times as a doctor.  He had seen his mother go through the same thing.  He sat and let Sherlock finish his story.

“I never got far for very long.  I didn’t have any other friends, my mother hated me and if Mycroft saw me, just one look, he would know what happened and I couldn’t bare him knowing.”  Sherlock swallowed hard and continued, still not looking at John.  “But I couldn’t control the cravings.  I had to go back, and each time he was waiting for me to return and each time he took no time at all in reminding me what a weak, pathetic excuse for a human I was.  I couldn’t even live without relying on somebody else.  I was twenty-two and I was completely dependent on other people.  Just like a child.”

John could hear the self-loathing in Sherlock's voice and he had had to restrain himself from taking the man into his arms and reassuring him that he had nothing to be ashamed about, but if Sherlock didn’t get all of this out now then he never would, so John sat tight and let him talk.

“Another six months, after the last time I voluntarily left him, it went on and the abuse got worse.  It wasn’t until one night, after passing out from a drug-induced high, I woke up in bed and Joshua was there…and there was….his name, it was Thomas Jenkins, he was there.”

Sherlock stopped and John had a feeling that he was going to have to look up every Thomas Jenkins there was until he found the right one and then he and Joshua Kingston were going to find themselves somewhere even Mycroft couldn’t find them.  In fact, if John was lucky, Mycroft would help John put them there.    
Sherlock turned back to John, his eyes wide and full of shame.  “I didn’t John, I swear, I wasn’t like that.  I didn’t let others…it was never that bad…”  Sherlock couldn’t finish as he was near on hyperventilating.

At this, John did stand up and went over to Sherlock and knelt down in front of him, taking his hands in his own.  “It’s okay, Sherlock” he whispered, placing his forehead against Sherlocks.  “I believe you.”

Sherlock's breathing slowed down and after a few minutes of the two of them sitting together he continued.

“When I refused to participate the two of them beat me until I was unconscious.  When I woke up, two days later, I was in hospital and Mycroft was there.  He informed me that my belongings had been removed from the flat and had been relocated to his apartment.  I was also booked into a rehabilitation facility.  It was not up for negotiation so three days later I was released from one hospital to another in what was to be my first out of three stints at getting clean.”

John rubbed circles, with his thumbs, into the backs of Sherlock's hands.  

“Charges were never laid against either of them, but they did disappear and I have a feeling Mycroft did play a part in that.  I haven’t heard from either of them since then.  I don’t even know why it’s affecting me now,  It happened a long time ago.  This feeling is ridiculous.  I’m a grown man for crying out…”

“Stop” John ordered, and Sherlock did.  “What happened to you was horrible, Sherlock.  Someone, who was supposed to care for you, treated you like less than an animal.  They belittled you and hurt you and that is not okay, ever and it doesn’t matter how long ago it was or how much you think you have deleted, it is still an unpleasant time of your life and if it still hurts, that’s okay too.  You don’t have to keep it to yourself and you certainly don’t have to feel ashamed in any way.  There is _nothing_ to feel ashamed about Sherlock.  _He_ was the arsehole here, not you.  _Never_ you.”

For a while, again, there was silence.  

“John, I want to go to bed,” Sherlock said softly, looking down at their hands, Johns thumbs still making small circles on the backs of Sherlock's hands.

John gave a small tug on his hands and made to stand up but Sherlock tugged on his hands, making him stop.  “Not to… I don’t want…Just to sleep.”

John gave his hands a small squeeze.  “I know” he reassured, and the two of them moved to the bedroom where John held Sherlock until he fell asleep and then didn’t let go of him for the rest of the night.

~o~

When John woke up the following morning, it was to a very chatty William and a very asleep Sherlock, so shushing one, so the other would stay asleep, he slipped out of bed and into the kitchen to get breakfast started.

He was in the middle of pouring milk into the bowl of fruity-bix when William's voice called out “Bloody Mycroft hath been here again” from the lounge room.

“William” John admonished, putting the milk away and then turned to see his son, standing in the doorway with a blue folder in his hand. “It hath your name on it” William announced and reached up to push the file onto the table, almost pushing a beaker of only god knew what onto the floor.  “Eat your breakfast,” he said, placing the bowl on the clean half of the table and then retrieved the file that Mycroft had apparently dropped off sometime this morning.  He didn’t have to be a genius to know what it was going to be about.

Inside were two sets of documents.  The first one was related to Thomas Jenkins.  Thirteen years ago he had been offered a job, working finances with one of the big uranium mines in Somalia, an offer he could not refuse.  Two years later he was caught in bed with another man.  Thirteen months and two appeals later he was found guilty of homosexuality and stoned to death.  John couldn’t bring it upon himself to feel pity for the man.  

The second file was on Joshua Kingston.  Eleven years ago he was found to have copious amounts of drugs in his possession.  He spent three years in prison and got out on good behaviour.  He spent the following five years in Cardiff, building up a career in finance only to be jailed once again for embezzlement.  He was released three months ago.  Down the bottom of the file there was a handwritten note.  

_Trust that this individual will no longer be an issue in your lives._

_He has been taken care of._

_MH_

John didn’t want to imagine what that meant for Joshua Kingston, but if Mycroft said that he was no longer a problem then John was going to take his word for it.  

“Daddy, can I go wake up Therlock?” William asked as John placed the folder in the bookshelf.  

“Have you finished your breakfast?” he asked.  William nodded his head.  John knew he should let Sherlock sleep a bit longer, but he also didn’t want to make last night into any more than it was, so he felt that he should carry on as usual.  Hoping Sherlock would see it the same he said “Off you go” and William took off at a run, towards the bedroom.  

When he heard Sherlock let out a roar and William follow on with a half shriek-half giggle John knew that he had made the right choice.  Sherlock would be fine.  They would be fine.  Everything was going to be good.


End file.
